


i feel stupid and contagious

by heterocosmica



Series: Happy Snape family AU [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Happy Snape Family AU, Really tame hints of sexuality, Romani Eileen Prince, Romani Sanela Snape, Romani Severus Snape, Summer Fair, i was also going for 13yo dumbass vibes, i was going for general summer vibes i hope this reads...summer-y?, mentions of bare shoulders and bras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heterocosmica/pseuds/heterocosmica
Summary: July of 1973*It's a sweltering couple of weeks in the summer of '73.





	i feel stupid and contagious

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Happy Snape family AU. If you want to check out more of this AU (including the edits) check out my [tumblr tag for it](http://heterocosmica.tumblr.com/tagged/snape-family). Hope you have as much fun with this as I am!
> 
> *
> 
> comments on my fics are always moderated, hate will not be published, if you don't like Snape just don't read this

**His mother smells like sunshine.**

It’s summer so it’s hot. He figures that’s just how it is, how it must be. It is summer after all, and summer’s where the hot days live.

Da’s been making noises for the past week. It’s the standard _heat is unbearable but it’s the humidity that gets you_ spiel they’ve all heard every time a sunny day dares to happen. It’s been made even worse by Da getting transferred from assembly line to the loading dock for the month. Every day, Da’s been coming back from work as roasted as a chicken, skin red and blistering.

He thinks he’d have more fun with this uncharacteristically sunny summer if he weren’t pale like Da. Every time he complains about his own burnt and peeling shoulders, Sanela likes to jump in, saying how they learnt in school that everything you are you get from your parents. Occasionally, he turns to Da after she says that, goes: “So this is _your_ fault.” with the patented Lucius Malfoy holier than thou sneer on his face. He tries to hold that expression until Da taps the back of his head in a parody of a smack or Mama ruffles his hair with a soft laugh on her lips. They all burst out into uncontrollable laughter, then. 

It always ends with Mama shaking her head, a gentle, loving smile on her face, as she smears fish oil gently on his burns, humming a slow tune.

Mama and Sanela never burn. Their dark skin only gets darker with every day of sunshine, and their smiles get brighter, until he feels one happy expression on his sister’s face could power their whole city for a year.

**His bedroom smells like sunshine and salt.**

The moment he wakes up, his mother is there, with a soft kiss for his forehead and a gentle hand through his hair.

“Muro shavo, can you pump the water into the shower, it looks like it’s going to be a hot day?”

“Muro shavo, tell your sister to feed the chickens, would you?”

“Muro shavo, run down to Mary’s and see if she has any fresh milk to trade.”

“Muro shavo, put a shirt on or you’ll burn again.”

She’s so soft spoken and gentle that he’s always surprised anew when they walk out together and people start getting out of their way. It’s hard to reconcile his soft Mama with the hard, strong Eileen Snape, with her head held high and steel in her eyes. His mother is careful and powerful and it oozes from her every pore, overwhelms anyone who would ever dare attack or interfere. 

No one ever tries to steal from Eileen. No one ever pushes Eileen around. No one ever insults or degrades Eileen. She is everything he wants to be, and he thinks his father agrees.

Sometimes, he sees that same look in his little sister’s eyes and he thinks _she will set the world on fire_.

**He smells like Mr. O’Donnell’s fish shop.**

Or, at least, that’s what Michael keeps saying.

He’s finished his chores and Mama’s let him out (shirtless but covered in fish oil to protect him from sunburns at least a bit) and now they’re just aimlessly walking around, waiting for Mr. Mitchell to come for his shift at the record store because his daughter, Marlene, doesn’t let them in anymore. She used to, back when they were younger and sweeter, simply by the virtue of their big eyes and toothless smiles. She has her own kids now and their thin, lanky frames can’t bring out the sappiness in a tired mother of toddler twins anymore. 

The day is as heavy, hot, and humid as every other so far so they’re walking slowly, occasionally kicking at the rocks on the ground. Severus pretends not to notice they’re walking towards the park near the creek. The park both him and Michael know those Evans girls will be at. He’s not really interested in seeing Lily, considering the crowd she hangs out with at school, but he’s heard some older boys mention that Petunia has started wearing a brassiere this year and, well, he’s pretty sure Michael has heard the same rumour.

A little voice in his head wonders if this means Michael likes Petunia. And if Michael liking Petunia would even matter. The thought of it makes his skin itch.

When they do get there, Petunia is alone, lying in the grass next to the creek, reading some book. It’s a paperback with a complicated geometrical design on the cover, the title smudged and cracked so much that he can’t even make out a single letter. As they get closer, they both notice she’s wearing a thin peach dress; and she’s most certainly _not_ wearing a brassiere. 

After a few moments of the two of them standing frozen in shock, Petunia finally notices them. She puts her book down and sits up, one of the wide straps of her dress falling down her shoulder, and lifts her orange sunglasses so she could stare them down. 

He wants to look down, see what the book is called, but something is stopping him from looking away from her smooth shoulder and the dimple at the back of it.

Then the moment breaks, Michael squeaks in shock, and suddenly they’re both running back, dazed and confused, Petunia’s mocking laughter ringing in their ears.

They don’t make it to the record shop.

That night, while he’s lying in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, the image of Petunia’s shoulder etched into his mind, he thinks _it’s pretty hard being 13_.

**“The air smells like the rain is coming”, Mama says, “be careful, muro shavo.”**

She kisses his forehead and sends him on his way.

He leaves Sanela and Mama sitting in the kitchen, talking about girl stuff, whatever that might be. The lunch is quietly simmering on the stove, the wood has been brought in, the chickens only occasionally peeking in the open kitchen door; it’s a quiet summer day and something warm and satisfied settles in his chest. 

His sister is trying her hardest to crochet a small flower she wants to pin on her blue dress, the good one she’s only allowed to wear to church. She’s staring with a laser focus at the pattern she ripped from some magazine, her small fingers working hard and precise.

Their mother is sitting next to her at the tiny kitchen table, writing lesson plans for her next school year. Occasionally, she glances up at Sanela, smiles softly, and tells her she’s doing great.

As he stands at the door, ready to leave, he looks back at them. His eyes linger on his sister and for a moment he thinks _maybe being 11 is pretty hard, too_.

Michael is helping his Ma with the goats today, they’re fixing the wire fence and it’s a day long job, so Severus is on his own until tomorrow. 

He walks to the library and spends the day trying to figure out which book Petunia was reading the other day. Considering he has no idea what to ask the librarian for, his search mainly consists of walking around browsing the romance section, figuring that was his best bet.

He doesn’t find it and the rain doesn’t fall but by the time he heads home the sky is dark, filled with grey, rain filled clouds.

**Everything smells like spun sugar.**

He’s been saving money for this, hoarding every coin he gets or finds, and now, for the first year ever, he can buy candy floss. The church yard is full of people, children screaming at the top of their lungs, sellers yelling out prices and trying to haggle with any person who even glances in their direction. Usually the church fair is this big, loud, uncomfortable thing he hates coming to, but this year there’s something to look forward to.

He pulls his sister eagerly along through the crowd, her small, warm hand firmly in his, until they’re standing right in front of the candy floss man. When he asks for one and hands over the money, Sanela gasps, eyes wide and mouth open in awe. Her small fingers dig into the flesh of his hand in surprise and he gives her a small smile, proud that he managed to shock her.

After he gets his fingers around the thin stick the pink cloud of sugar rests on, the two of them sneak through the crowd, protecting their treasure with their bodies, until they’re in the corner under the little roof over the McNally’s store, right across from the church. The sky is still dark, the promise of rain hanging heavy in the air, so they huddle together, pulling apart the soft sugar, licking the stickiness from their fingers, laughing all the while.

As they finish, the first drops of rain start falling and they run home as it turns into a downpour, Severus still holding the stick candy floss came on tightly in his hand.

When they burst into the house, clothes wet and faces still pink and sticky, smiling from ear to ear, Da looks at them with a smile.

“Go change before you catch your death” he says “you know your Ma doesn’t like you having all that sugar.”

He sends them off with a wink and keeps smiling as he hears the sporadic giggles from upstairs.

**She smells like a powdery perfume.**

He’s not sure where she would have gotten it. Assumes a girl of 15 must have a suitor of some sort. She smells like perfume and she’s sitting on the wet, cement filled tire that passes for a swing in this neighbourhood, swaying slowly. There’s not much wind but the rain is still pouring, has been for the last week, so she’s completely wet, but to be fair, so is he.

She makes quite the picture, wet hair sticking to her arms, neck, lips, face turned upwards to the sky, eyes closed. The long, dark pink skirt she’s wearing sticks to her legs and what is obviously a men’s shirt, a soft pink chequered material, hangs off her shoulders, buttoned only barely. He looks at them, wondering if her right shoulder has a dimple, too, but the angle is bad and he can’t look at it without disturbing her. Her feet are bare and muddy and she’s taking soft, even breaths he probably wouldn’t even be able to hear if he weren’t standing so close.

He leans in even closer, stares at her bare shoulders, his fingers itching to touch. 

“Petunia” he whispers, letting it out like a breath.

Her eyes swing open and a snide little grin mares her lips. She lifts her eyebrows in question and waits while he tries to find the words, find something right to say. 

What comes out instead is “That perfume makes you smell like an old lady.”

For a beat, nothing happens. He can feel her breath on his face and their eyes are connected in a stare off. 

And then she jerks back, jumping off the swing, yells out “Screw you Snape” and runs off.

He takes a seat on the now empty swing, thinking _maybe being 13 was not that hard, maybe it was just him_.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcoming any sort of feedback!


End file.
